Bringing the Pain: Wyvern vs. Angelina Tarrant

[Hills]

Wyvern stalks closer to Angelina, her pace measured and slow, forcing herself not to surge forward in eagerness. Against another, this agonizingly drawn-out approach might have brought out shudders of fear in her opponent, bringing to mind an oncoming predator, but that's only ever a side-effect, never the goal. Wyvern rarely got much of anything from terrorizing her foes, beyond maybe a grim satisfaction whenever she needed to send a message that she was not to be trifled with. What she got from the Marauder, however, gave her so much more. Bruised. Battered. Defiant. She still hadn't given up, and that was all Wyvern could ask for.

When Wyvern is just shy of her mark, there's another blur of pink as the rising wrestler brings her crudely-named weapon in a quick arc, hoping to ward off the Gorelord's approach. Pure instinct causes Wyvern to flinch back, clearing out of the bat's jagged path. She hadn't been expecting that so fast, while Angelina was stilling trying to get herself back up. She rocks back, placing her weight on the back foot...and then their eyes meet. To the audience, it's a study in contrast. Angelina: grinning, manic, straining to unleash herself back onto her opponent. Wyvern: cold, controlled, waiting like a viper for the right moment to strike. There are no illusions between them, though. Any differences pale in comparison to what they share in this moment: a deep, undeniable need to see their opponent bleed.

The tip of Wyvern's tongue darts out, wetting her lips. "Then come get me."

[Monsy]

Once Angelina worked out a bit of distance, she touched on her neck again. Tapped it. Index-middle. Ring-middle. Tap-tap. Tap-tap. She couldn’t massage it. Wouldn’t have time to. But she did lean her head back just a bit to force herself through it. The type of push she’ll need to continue battling Wyvern at optiminal levels. And when she acknowledged the thought, she worked herself up into an insatiable itch that needed to get back at them. Her bat would love her for it.

She licked the top her teeth, said, “You’re SO fuckin’ on!”

Then ran. She came onto Wyvern in a frontal assault, with more guts than strategy. Feel rather than think. She swung Nutcracka in a diagonal arc from above, aiming to smack on-top of Wyvern’s collar, catch some flesh or fabric, then continue her slash downward across the chest as Angelina followed through. Then she continued her momentum with some fancy footwork, stepped over and did a spin while still closing some distance. She swung again, this time lower, faster and harder, aimed right at the waist of the Gorelord!

[Hills]

Wyvern grins back at Angelina, not as frenzied but no less eager to get back to their battle. The smile splits her face in half to an almost unnatural degree, her lips paling as they're stretched tight against her teeth. As Angelina charges in, Wyvern steps forward to meet the Marauder, seizing the head of her flail with her other hand and snapping the chain taught to intercept the overhead swing of the bat. Whatever her plan was, it fails; the flail's head is torn out of her grip, forcing Wyvern to try and dodge back to avoid taking the strike head-on. Too close to avoid the hit entirely, the nails along the bat rip a bloody gash into her shoulder before tearing through part of her top, leaving another piece of her ensemble ruined.

Already off-balance after her overconfident mistake, the Dame of Damnation is unable to mount any effective resistance against the Marauder's follow-up swing! She tries to at least roll with the blow, but Nutcracka cracks home, pulverizing flesh and ripping crimson furrows into her side!

"GGGGGG!"

Wyvern's jaw clenches with nearly enough force to crack her teeth, but a strangled cry of pain is still torn from her lungs. Already off-balance, she is sent staggering away, clutching at her mangled side!

[Monsy]

Ooh, Angelina felt that one.

That rrrriiip that takes a piece of shoulder and fabric. She got a tingle in the same place, then rode the instinct and her rhythm to hit the gal twice. A World War One carved onto that skin like it was the first day on the Somme. There was electricity in her arms. Whether it was just the concussion kicking in or that she felt like a magician, to finally break this girl’s defence in a meaningful way. There was no time to think about it, she just needed to--

“Three-peat!” Angelina shouted, holding up a pinky, ring and middle finger to her side, while spinning the bat in the opposite hand. She took a shuffle forward, no doubt nearly tripping when her neck nearly cramped up, then lined up her angle.

One counter-clockwise spin later, Angelina grabbed it with two hands, batter-upped like MLB and swung to crack Wyvern right in the damn cheek.